Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 05/17
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing
each other first?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no
profit is being made.
*****
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Chapter 5
You find yourself falling down
Your hopes in the sky
But your heart like grape gum on the ground
Scully lay on her back, spread-eagle, arms at her sides. Though her limbs were
bent awkwardly around her, none were set in an unnatural position. For a moment
it looked as though she were not breathing. But from the subsequent rapid rise
and fall of her chest--an effort that was not too terribly labored--it became
apparent that she had merely had the wind knocked out of her. Though slightly
off-kilter, her hard hat still remained in place, having protected her head from
serious injury during her fall. Unfortunately, it did not do much to shield her
from her surroundings.
As she began to stir, her limbs made small furrows in the ground. What Mulder
had assumed to be a whitish-gray dirt or ash now appeared to be some sort of
viscous, opaque substance. Scully lay in an enormous pool of the stuff; no doubt
it coated her entire backside.
The sight of Scully flailing her arms and legs conjured the image of a child
trying to make a snow angel on the cave floor.
Groaning again, Scully struggled to lift her head. The beam of his flashlight
caught her right in the face, and she blinked as though trying to clear her
vision. "M-Mulder . . . ? Issat you . . . ?" she called out, her voice hoarse.
Mulder cleared his throat before replying. "You were expecting someone else,
Scully? The caped crusader, perhaps?" When she did not respond, he moved the
beam to focus on her face. "Are you okay, Scully?"
"I just fell over a ledge and tumbled fifty feet down the steep, rocky path of a
goddammed underground cave! What do you think?"
"Well, does anything hurt?"
"*Everything* hurts!" "Does anything hurt more than the rest?"
"Yeah, my ears--from having to listen to you! Are you just gonna stand there
looking pretty all day, Mulder, or what? Give me a hand here." She attempted to
sit up.
For some reason, Mulder seemed hesitant about getting any closer. "Uhm, Scully,
maybe you should lie still. We should make sure nothing's broken."
"I'm a goddamned doctor, Mulder! I'd know if something were broken. I was damned
lucky that I landed in soft dirt--kind of."
*How to break the news to her gently?* Mulder wondered. *Be direct. Scully
always appreciates people being frank with her.* "Uh, Scully . . . it's, uhm . .
. it's not dirt."
"What do you mean it's not dirt? Of course it's dirt."
She had just managed to raise her torso. Now, as she sat with her arms extended
straight behind her, she started to shift her weight, intending to get up. But
one of her hands slipped out from beneath her, and she fell back to the side,
her shoulder making contact with the ground. One would have expected a thud and
a yelp of pain. Instead, the impact was remarkably cushioned. Which made Scully
begin to wonder why the ground was warm. And what on earth was that odd smell--
an almost bitter odor?
Scully raised her hand, saw that it was covered in some sort of peculiar paste.
"What the hell?" Rubbing her fingers together, it felt almost slimy. She brought
it cautiously toward her face, took a careful whiff. Her noise wrinkled almost
immediately in mild disgust. Though not an overpowering stench, there was
definitely a foul undertone to the material. Looking to her left and then her
right, Scully realized that she was sitting in a large pile of the paste. A
quick glance to the nearest wall revealed several large mounds of the same
substance--only there it appeared to have hardened over time. "But if it's not
dirt. . . ." She looked up at Mulder imploringly.
He, in turn, looked upward to the cave roof, shining his flashlight to a far
corner directly above the mounds. Scully followed his gaze to a group of furry
creatures that were huddled together, hanging upside down.
"Remember Miller's Grove, Scully? And a certain exploding factory?"
Scully looked from the bats to Mulder back to the bats and then down at her
hand. Suddenly, realization dawned. Her eyes became round as saucers and her
face drained of all color. "Oh . . . shit!"
"Precisely."
"You mean to tell me that I'm sitting here in a giant pile of . .." she
swallowed, repulsed by the mere thought, "of bat turds?"
"Guano, Scully," Mulder corrected. "The more precise term is bat *guano*."
"Shit, Mulder! I'm laying in a pile of bat shit! As much as I'd love to argue
semantics with you all day, I'd appreciate it if you'd do something to help get
me up and the hell out of it!"
Mulder made a face as he took a few cautious steps toward her. "Did you know
that deposits of dried bat droppings have been known to accumulate to depths of
over thirty meters in some caves?"
"You're going to be lying at the bottom of one of those piles if you don't hurry
up!" she spat, impatiently holding an outstretched hand in his direction.
In the process of reaching for her, Mulder stopped and stared at her guano-
covered palm.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Mulder! A little shit never hurt anybody!"
"That's a *lot* of shit, Scully."
"Mulder, in the time I have known you, you have been covered in bile, oil, green
slime, sea water, dirt--to say nothing of all the blood, sweat, tears, and
countless other bodily fluids that have been on your person. Not once did I ever
run in the other direction. And I also seem to remember a story involving a so-
called space ship in the Antarctic, where you claimed to have emptied quite a
bit of alien goo out of me."
"That was a matter of life and death."
"You're the one who's going to be dead, Mulder, just as soon as I reach my gun.
. . ."
"Okay, okay. I'm coming. Just try to be neat about it, Scully," he said as he
planted his feet on either side of her outstretched legs and held out his hands
to her. "This is a brand-new windbreaker."
Irate, Scully reached past his hands and grasped his wrists--including the cuffs
of his jacket--and started to pull herself up. She had almost made it to her
feet when her boot slipped.
"Easy, Scully, I've got you." Mulder reached to grab her before she could fall
again. But because of the guano covering her arms, she started to slide right
through his fingers.
Feeling herself slipping, Scully reached out for her partner to steady herself.
She succeeded in grabbing fistfuls of his windbreaker, but her guano-covered
fingers made her grasp tenuous.
Mulder tried to adjust his stance, but because of the slippery nature of the
manure, he started to lose what little traction he had. Had it just been his own
weight he was supporting, he could have easily righted himself. But having
Scully attached to him threw off his center of gravity. Even as he tried to
compensate, his partner continued to flail about.
"Scully, relax before we--eeyowch!" She suddenly yanked hard on his right arm,
and Mulder yelped in pain. The muscles of his shoulder were still not completely
healed from his recent gunshot wound.
By that time, it was already too late. Even as she tumbled back toward the
ground, Scully's hold on Mulder, though not sufficient to keep her upright, was
nonetheless strong enough to pull him off-balance. Together they fell, landing
with a loud *splat!*.
Mulder lay there belly-down, his face fortunately having landed on the
cushioned--and nearly unsoiled--bosom of his partner. Normally, he would have
taken the time to appreciate such a makeshift pillow, but the warm sensation of
bat droppings surrounding his arms and legs took precedence in his thoughts.
"Goddammit, Mulder! Can't you do anything right?"
"Me? *You're* the one who pulled *me* down, Scully."
"It's not like I did it on purpose, Mulder."
"That's a matter of debate," he muttered, raising his head.
Scully also lifted her head to look her partner in the eye. "Are you purporting
that I purposely pulled you into a pile of poop?"
His eyes narrowed contemptuously. "Perhaps."
His deadpan expression lasted only a few seconds. The ensuing toothy grin with
which he graced her--complete with a small splattering of guano on his cheek--
made Scully smile despite herself. The inaneness of their current circumstances
caused her anger to quickly melt away. How was it, she wondered, that she and
Mulder always managed to get themselves into the most ridiculous predicaments?
"Do you know what it is we're swimming in here, Scully?"
That was a no-brainer. "The excrement of flying mammals?"
"Yes, but it's not just manure."
"It's not?"
"No, it's much, much more. We're sitting on a veritable gold mine here, Scully."
"How's that?"
"Because bat guano, my dear Scully, is the greatest fertilizer ever known."
Scully's brow furrowed as she stared at her partner, waiting for the inevitable
punchline. It never came. "Your point being?"
"My point being that if we were to sell this stuff, we could retire early."
"Oh, sure, Mulder. Let me go grab my shovel and some plastic bags."
"I'm serious, Scully. Bat guano has been utilized for centuries in areas of
South America precisely because it's richer in nitrogen, phosphorus, and
potassium than other types of manure. Because bats eat insects, their wastes
contain the perfect balance of nutrients necessary for the establishment and
maintenance of fertile soil. The organic matter found in guano includes soil-
building amino acids and other microorganisms that contribute to soil health.
Guano is actually safer, cleaner, and easier to use than blood meal--and it will
produce far better results. And unlike other manures, it won't burn roots."
Scully stared at him, nonplused. "Mulder, you can't even keep your fish alive.
Since when do you garden?"
"I don't."
"Then how do you know all this crap?"
Mulder smiled at her unintentional pun. "You'd be surprised at the things you
can learn from your television in the middle of the night."
Scully scowled. "National Geographic?"
He shook his head. "You, too, can own the greatest fertilizer ever known to man
for the low, low price of only twenty-nine-ninety-five," Mulder droned in his
best talk-show host voice. "Plus eight-ninety-five shipping and handling.
Colorado residents add sales tax."
Scully's eyes rolled heaven-wards.
"Just look at us, Scully," Mulder said, holding up a guano-covered sleeve.
"We're covered in the latest, greatest money-making object."
Scully chuckled softly. "Mulder, you've finally gone over the deep end."
"You jest, Scully, but I'm perfectly serious. There's a real market for this
stuff. It's been incredibly difficult to find a good, dependable source for this
well-balanced fertilizer."
"And you think we've found a veritable fountain of it here?" she asked, not even
bothering to hide her incredulous laughter any more.
"Hell yeah. I'm telling you, Scully, together we could make a real killing.
Battles have been fought over this stuff."
That was the last straw. Scully threw her head back and howled at the absurdity
of it all. Here they were, having been trapped by a cave-in, wandering
underground, no clue where they were or how to get out. And now they were lying
together in pile of bat shit talking about making an infomercial to sell the
stuff? How far had she come--how low had she sunk--in the six-plus years she had
been a field agent?
So few were the times that he had heard Scully laugh with such careless abandon
that the sound of her goofy giggling actually gave Mulder a moment's pause. But
only a moment, for it was contagious, and he too was soon laughing along with
her. It brought back memories of simpler, happier times--of a rainy night in an
Oregon cemetery, and a similarly stormy night spent in the sheltered warmth of
Scully's apartment and her arms. Any thoughts of a troubled partnership had
since fallen to the wayside as they reveled in a shared joke.
"Forget the Ab Roller, Scully," Mulder muttered in between chuckles. "Your
future is with bat guano--the safest, most versatile fertilizer known to man.
What did that ad say? Oh yeah--'it's virtually foolproof'!"
"Foolproof, huh?" she asked, searching for a clean finger to wipe the tears from
her eyes. "I remember reading an article in a recent _JAMA_ which claimed that
some workers were exposed to _Histoplasma capsulatum_ while removing bat guano
from a church's attic. Apparently, they gota nasty pulmonary infection from
inhaling aerosolized bat guano dust."
Mulder sniffled. "Great. Just what we need."
"Don't worry, Mulder. That's the old, dried up guano. Not this fresh stuff," she
said, reaching to wipe his cheek. All she succeeded in doing, however, was
smearing more onto his face. "Oops. Sorry about that."
"What's a little poop among friends, huh?" He reached for her face, but she
quickly grabbed his wrist and held it away from her.
"Uh uh, Mulder. Those grubby paws are not going anywhere near my face. Now,
could you please get off of me? I think you're starting to collapse a lung
here."
Mulder carefully rose to his feet. He looked down at himself and saw that, just
as he had suspected, it was mainly the shins of his jeans and the sleeves of his
jacket that had been soiled. As he took Scully's hands and pulled her to her
feet, he saw that she had fared far worse: her entire backside was coated in
dung, and her sides and front had several large splatters of the stuff.
"It could be worse," Mulder said, offering her a small hand towel from his
backpack.
"What, you mean I could be covered in it from head to toe?" Scully asked, wiping
off her hands.
"Nah. I was gonna say you could really reek. Luckily, the stuff doesn't have too
much of an odor--especially as it dries."
"Thank God for small favors," Scully muttered, folding the towel and tucking it
into her jacket pocket. "Well, I guess we should get moving again."
"Did you lose your flashlight?"
She nodded. "Yep. We're down to just yours. Lead on, MacDuff."
Mulder headed toward the tunnel they had been following before Scully took her
spill. The path was wide enough for them to walk side-by-side, and they soon
fell into a steady pace.
"You know, I think I remember reading a news article last summer about a
building in Chicago exploding," Mulder remarked. "The cause of the blast was
initially attributed to bat guano."
"Don't tell me: spontaneous combustion?"
"Yup. But here's the kicker: there has never been any reported case of bio-gas
forming nor igniting from bat guano found in man-made structures, let alone in
nature itself."
"So it was never proven?"
"The official cause of the explosion was ultimately ruled to be sewer gas."
"Hmph." Scully pondered for a moment. "Hey, Mulder, speaking of gas--"
"Wasn't me."
Oblivious, Scully did not lose a beat. "Do you think some sort of naturally
forming bio-gas could have been the cause of the kids' deaths?"
"What, you think a stash of bat guano had been releasing methane gas into the
air? That maybe they lit a match, and the accumulated bio-gas ignited, causing a
fatal explosion?"
"That's what I'm suggesting, yes."
Mulder mulled the idea over thoughtfully, but from the way he was chewing on his
bottom lip, Scully realized he was trying hard not to laugh.
"God, that does sound ludicrous, doesn't it?"
"Improbable, maybe, but not ludicrous. No, ludicrous would be suggesting that
Scott or Kilikina had fatally flammable flatulence."
"Death from farting fire?" she asked, incredulous.
Nodding, Mulder could not help but laugh, and Scully joined him. They continued
walking in companionable silence. After a while, Mulder offered Scully the
flashlight, and she proceeded to take the lead. About fifteen minutes later,
Scully brought them to an abrupt halt.
"Scully, what--?"
"Shh," she whispered. "Mulder, do you hear that?"
"Hear what?" he asked, already reaching for his gun.
She shook her head. "Just ahead. It sounds like--yes, I think it is. Oh, thank
God!" Scully took off down the path at a brisk clip, leaving Mulder in the dark-
-both literally and figuratively.
End Chapter 5
*****
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing
each other first?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no
profit is being made.
*****
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Chapter 5
You find yourself falling down
Your hopes in the sky
But your heart like grape gum on the ground
Scully lay on her back, spread-eagle, arms at her sides. Though her limbs were
bent awkwardly around her, none were set in an unnatural position. For a moment
it looked as though she were not breathing. But from the subsequent rapid rise
and fall of her chest--an effort that was not too terribly labored--it became
apparent that she had merely had the wind knocked out of her. Though slightly
off-kilter, her hard hat still remained in place, having protected her head from
serious injury during her fall. Unfortunately, it did not do much to shield her
from her surroundings.
As she began to stir, her limbs made small furrows in the ground. What Mulder
had assumed to be a whitish-gray dirt or ash now appeared to be some sort of
viscous, opaque substance. Scully lay in an enormous pool of the stuff; no doubt
it coated her entire backside.
The sight of Scully flailing her arms and legs conjured the image of a child
trying to make a snow angel on the cave floor.
Groaning again, Scully struggled to lift her head. The beam of his flashlight
caught her right in the face, and she blinked as though trying to clear her
vision. "M-Mulder . . . ? Issat you . . . ?" she called out, her voice hoarse.
Mulder cleared his throat before replying. "You were expecting someone else,
Scully? The caped crusader, perhaps?" When she did not respond, he moved the
beam to focus on her face. "Are you okay, Scully?"
"I just fell over a ledge and tumbled fifty feet down the steep, rocky path of a
goddammed underground cave! What do you think?"
"Well, does anything hurt?"
"*Everything* hurts!" "Does anything hurt more than the rest?"
"Yeah, my ears--from having to listen to you! Are you just gonna stand there
looking pretty all day, Mulder, or what? Give me a hand here." She attempted to
sit up.
For some reason, Mulder seemed hesitant about getting any closer. "Uhm, Scully,
maybe you should lie still. We should make sure nothing's broken."
"I'm a goddamned doctor, Mulder! I'd know if something were broken. I was damned
lucky that I landed in soft dirt--kind of."
*How to break the news to her gently?* Mulder wondered. *Be direct. Scully
always appreciates people being frank with her.* "Uh, Scully . . . it's, uhm . .
. it's not dirt."
"What do you mean it's not dirt? Of course it's dirt."
She had just managed to raise her torso. Now, as she sat with her arms extended
straight behind her, she started to shift her weight, intending to get up. But
one of her hands slipped out from beneath her, and she fell back to the side,
her shoulder making contact with the ground. One would have expected a thud and
a yelp of pain. Instead, the impact was remarkably cushioned. Which made Scully
begin to wonder why the ground was warm. And what on earth was that odd smell--
an almost bitter odor?
Scully raised her hand, saw that it was covered in some sort of peculiar paste.
"What the hell?" Rubbing her fingers together, it felt almost slimy. She brought
it cautiously toward her face, took a careful whiff. Her noise wrinkled almost
immediately in mild disgust. Though not an overpowering stench, there was
definitely a foul undertone to the material. Looking to her left and then her
right, Scully realized that she was sitting in a large pile of the paste. A
quick glance to the nearest wall revealed several large mounds of the same
substance--only there it appeared to have hardened over time. "But if it's not
dirt. . . ." She looked up at Mulder imploringly.
He, in turn, looked upward to the cave roof, shining his flashlight to a far
corner directly above the mounds. Scully followed his gaze to a group of furry
creatures that were huddled together, hanging upside down.
"Remember Miller's Grove, Scully? And a certain exploding factory?"
Scully looked from the bats to Mulder back to the bats and then down at her
hand. Suddenly, realization dawned. Her eyes became round as saucers and her
face drained of all color. "Oh . . . shit!"
"Precisely."
"You mean to tell me that I'm sitting here in a giant pile of . .." she
swallowed, repulsed by the mere thought, "of bat turds?"
"Guano, Scully," Mulder corrected. "The more precise term is bat *guano*."
"Shit, Mulder! I'm laying in a pile of bat shit! As much as I'd love to argue
semantics with you all day, I'd appreciate it if you'd do something to help get
me up and the hell out of it!"
Mulder made a face as he took a few cautious steps toward her. "Did you know
that deposits of dried bat droppings have been known to accumulate to depths of
over thirty meters in some caves?"
"You're going to be lying at the bottom of one of those piles if you don't hurry
up!" she spat, impatiently holding an outstretched hand in his direction.
In the process of reaching for her, Mulder stopped and stared at her guano-
covered palm.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Mulder! A little shit never hurt anybody!"
"That's a *lot* of shit, Scully."
"Mulder, in the time I have known you, you have been covered in bile, oil, green
slime, sea water, dirt--to say nothing of all the blood, sweat, tears, and
countless other bodily fluids that have been on your person. Not once did I ever
run in the other direction. And I also seem to remember a story involving a so-
called space ship in the Antarctic, where you claimed to have emptied quite a
bit of alien goo out of me."
"That was a matter of life and death."
"You're the one who's going to be dead, Mulder, just as soon as I reach my gun.
. . ."
"Okay, okay. I'm coming. Just try to be neat about it, Scully," he said as he
planted his feet on either side of her outstretched legs and held out his hands
to her. "This is a brand-new windbreaker."
Irate, Scully reached past his hands and grasped his wrists--including the cuffs
of his jacket--and started to pull herself up. She had almost made it to her
feet when her boot slipped.
"Easy, Scully, I've got you." Mulder reached to grab her before she could fall
again. But because of the guano covering her arms, she started to slide right
through his fingers.
Feeling herself slipping, Scully reached out for her partner to steady herself.
She succeeded in grabbing fistfuls of his windbreaker, but her guano-covered
fingers made her grasp tenuous.
Mulder tried to adjust his stance, but because of the slippery nature of the
manure, he started to lose what little traction he had. Had it just been his own
weight he was supporting, he could have easily righted himself. But having
Scully attached to him threw off his center of gravity. Even as he tried to
compensate, his partner continued to flail about.
"Scully, relax before we--eeyowch!" She suddenly yanked hard on his right arm,
and Mulder yelped in pain. The muscles of his shoulder were still not completely
healed from his recent gunshot wound.
By that time, it was already too late. Even as she tumbled back toward the
ground, Scully's hold on Mulder, though not sufficient to keep her upright, was
nonetheless strong enough to pull him off-balance. Together they fell, landing
with a loud *splat!*.
Mulder lay there belly-down, his face fortunately having landed on the
cushioned--and nearly unsoiled--bosom of his partner. Normally, he would have
taken the time to appreciate such a makeshift pillow, but the warm sensation of
bat droppings surrounding his arms and legs took precedence in his thoughts.
"Goddammit, Mulder! Can't you do anything right?"
"Me? *You're* the one who pulled *me* down, Scully."
"It's not like I did it on purpose, Mulder."
"That's a matter of debate," he muttered, raising his head.
Scully also lifted her head to look her partner in the eye. "Are you purporting
that I purposely pulled you into a pile of poop?"
His eyes narrowed contemptuously. "Perhaps."
His deadpan expression lasted only a few seconds. The ensuing toothy grin with
which he graced her--complete with a small splattering of guano on his cheek--
made Scully smile despite herself. The inaneness of their current circumstances
caused her anger to quickly melt away. How was it, she wondered, that she and
Mulder always managed to get themselves into the most ridiculous predicaments?
"Do you know what it is we're swimming in here, Scully?"
That was a no-brainer. "The excrement of flying mammals?"
"Yes, but it's not just manure."
"It's not?"
"No, it's much, much more. We're sitting on a veritable gold mine here, Scully."
"How's that?"
"Because bat guano, my dear Scully, is the greatest fertilizer ever known."
Scully's brow furrowed as she stared at her partner, waiting for the inevitable
punchline. It never came. "Your point being?"
"My point being that if we were to sell this stuff, we could retire early."
"Oh, sure, Mulder. Let me go grab my shovel and some plastic bags."
"I'm serious, Scully. Bat guano has been utilized for centuries in areas of
South America precisely because it's richer in nitrogen, phosphorus, and
potassium than other types of manure. Because bats eat insects, their wastes
contain the perfect balance of nutrients necessary for the establishment and
maintenance of fertile soil. The organic matter found in guano includes soil-
building amino acids and other microorganisms that contribute to soil health.
Guano is actually safer, cleaner, and easier to use than blood meal--and it will
produce far better results. And unlike other manures, it won't burn roots."
Scully stared at him, nonplused. "Mulder, you can't even keep your fish alive.
Since when do you garden?"
"I don't."
"Then how do you know all this crap?"
Mulder smiled at her unintentional pun. "You'd be surprised at the things you
can learn from your television in the middle of the night."
Scully scowled. "National Geographic?"
He shook his head. "You, too, can own the greatest fertilizer ever known to man
for the low, low price of only twenty-nine-ninety-five," Mulder droned in his
best talk-show host voice. "Plus eight-ninety-five shipping and handling.
Colorado residents add sales tax."
Scully's eyes rolled heaven-wards.
"Just look at us, Scully," Mulder said, holding up a guano-covered sleeve.
"We're covered in the latest, greatest money-making object."
Scully chuckled softly. "Mulder, you've finally gone over the deep end."
"You jest, Scully, but I'm perfectly serious. There's a real market for this
stuff. It's been incredibly difficult to find a good, dependable source for this
well-balanced fertilizer."
"And you think we've found a veritable fountain of it here?" she asked, not even
bothering to hide her incredulous laughter any more.
"Hell yeah. I'm telling you, Scully, together we could make a real killing.
Battles have been fought over this stuff."
That was the last straw. Scully threw her head back and howled at the absurdity
of it all. Here they were, having been trapped by a cave-in, wandering
underground, no clue where they were or how to get out. And now they were lying
together in pile of bat shit talking about making an infomercial to sell the
stuff? How far had she come--how low had she sunk--in the six-plus years she had
been a field agent?
So few were the times that he had heard Scully laugh with such careless abandon
that the sound of her goofy giggling actually gave Mulder a moment's pause. But
only a moment, for it was contagious, and he too was soon laughing along with
her. It brought back memories of simpler, happier times--of a rainy night in an
Oregon cemetery, and a similarly stormy night spent in the sheltered warmth of
Scully's apartment and her arms. Any thoughts of a troubled partnership had
since fallen to the wayside as they reveled in a shared joke.
"Forget the Ab Roller, Scully," Mulder muttered in between chuckles. "Your
future is with bat guano--the safest, most versatile fertilizer known to man.
What did that ad say? Oh yeah--'it's virtually foolproof'!"
"Foolproof, huh?" she asked, searching for a clean finger to wipe the tears from
her eyes. "I remember reading an article in a recent _JAMA_ which claimed that
some workers were exposed to _Histoplasma capsulatum_ while removing bat guano
from a church's attic. Apparently, they gota nasty pulmonary infection from
inhaling aerosolized bat guano dust."
Mulder sniffled. "Great. Just what we need."
"Don't worry, Mulder. That's the old, dried up guano. Not this fresh stuff," she
said, reaching to wipe his cheek. All she succeeded in doing, however, was
smearing more onto his face. "Oops. Sorry about that."
"What's a little poop among friends, huh?" He reached for her face, but she
quickly grabbed his wrist and held it away from her.
"Uh uh, Mulder. Those grubby paws are not going anywhere near my face. Now,
could you please get off of me? I think you're starting to collapse a lung
here."
Mulder carefully rose to his feet. He looked down at himself and saw that, just
as he had suspected, it was mainly the shins of his jeans and the sleeves of his
jacket that had been soiled. As he took Scully's hands and pulled her to her
feet, he saw that she had fared far worse: her entire backside was coated in
dung, and her sides and front had several large splatters of the stuff.
"It could be worse," Mulder said, offering her a small hand towel from his
backpack.
"What, you mean I could be covered in it from head to toe?" Scully asked, wiping
off her hands.
"Nah. I was gonna say you could really reek. Luckily, the stuff doesn't have too
much of an odor--especially as it dries."
"Thank God for small favors," Scully muttered, folding the towel and tucking it
into her jacket pocket. "Well, I guess we should get moving again."
"Did you lose your flashlight?"
She nodded. "Yep. We're down to just yours. Lead on, MacDuff."
Mulder headed toward the tunnel they had been following before Scully took her
spill. The path was wide enough for them to walk side-by-side, and they soon
fell into a steady pace.
"You know, I think I remember reading a news article last summer about a
building in Chicago exploding," Mulder remarked. "The cause of the blast was
initially attributed to bat guano."
"Don't tell me: spontaneous combustion?"
"Yup. But here's the kicker: there has never been any reported case of bio-gas
forming nor igniting from bat guano found in man-made structures, let alone in
nature itself."
"So it was never proven?"
"The official cause of the explosion was ultimately ruled to be sewer gas."
"Hmph." Scully pondered for a moment. "Hey, Mulder, speaking of gas--"
"Wasn't me."
Oblivious, Scully did not lose a beat. "Do you think some sort of naturally
forming bio-gas could have been the cause of the kids' deaths?"
"What, you think a stash of bat guano had been releasing methane gas into the
air? That maybe they lit a match, and the accumulated bio-gas ignited, causing a
fatal explosion?"
"That's what I'm suggesting, yes."
Mulder mulled the idea over thoughtfully, but from the way he was chewing on his
bottom lip, Scully realized he was trying hard not to laugh.
"God, that does sound ludicrous, doesn't it?"
"Improbable, maybe, but not ludicrous. No, ludicrous would be suggesting that
Scott or Kilikina had fatally flammable flatulence."
"Death from farting fire?" she asked, incredulous.
Nodding, Mulder could not help but laugh, and Scully joined him. They continued
walking in companionable silence. After a while, Mulder offered Scully the
flashlight, and she proceeded to take the lead. About fifteen minutes later,
Scully brought them to an abrupt halt.
"Scully, what--?"
"Shh," she whispered. "Mulder, do you hear that?"
"Hear what?" he asked, already reaching for his gun.
She shook her head. "Just ahead. It sounds like--yes, I think it is. Oh, thank
God!" Scully took off down the path at a brisk clip, leaving Mulder in the dark-
-both literally and figuratively.
End Chapter 5
*****